An Enjoyable Evening
by 9mm Meg
Summary: It's WWII, and Arthur's got the night off on leave. Unfortunately for him, though, Alfred does, too... Slight USUK, T for a little language and a teeny bit of violence


**A/N:** Sorry for any rustiness and/or suckage. It's my first time writing for this fandom, not to mention my first time writing anything at all in about 2 years. ^_^;

That being said, reviews and concrit are more than welcome 3

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"AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!"

Arthur gritted his teeth and very nearly knocked his pint off his little corner table into the floor with an irritated twitch of his hand. If he had to hear that god-awful obnoxious cackle one more time, he was going to permanently silence the source of it.

It had been a nice, quiet evening off… His boys had been gathered round the worn wooden tables in the mostly abandoned bar, sharing stories about home along with the brand new shipment of cigarettes. Arthur had picked out the most peaceful nook in the place and settled down with his glass and a sigh of near-contentment. He couldn't relax too much—they were at war, after all, and it'd been quite a trying century thus far—but things were looking a bit more hopeful now. So with his arm in a sling and his mind on nothing in particular, he'd decided that he was going to attempt to enjoy himself. Just for tonight.

Of course, that was impossible after the Americans had shown up.

It had taken what felt like only moments… The first Yank had thrown open the door, taken a glance around the place, then yelled back out, "They got booze!" Next thing Arthur knew, the place was entirely full of American soldiers, local girls, and somehow a 12-piece band that was making his head pound. Most of the tables had been shoved aside to clear a space for dancing, and all those that weren't participating were shouting over the music to make themselves heard. But even over the music and the chatter and the breaking of glasses, Arthur could _still_ hear that laugh. He had found this bar. He had claimed it (temporarily) in the name of the United Kingdom, and so help him, he wasn't leaving just because Alfred Jones had joined the ruckus.

Besides, if he tried to leave now, it was possible that Alfred would see him.

Arthur sank a little lower in his seat, hoping the impromptu poker game that had begun at the table in front of his would shield him from view. He could tolerate things as they were… He didn't have to speak to anyone, or do anything but watch them make fools of themselves. But should the other nation in the room notice him, his peace and non-quiet would vanish entirely. Just to be on the safe side, he watched Alfred warily over the rim of his glass, cringing with every boisterous outburst and telling himself that the next one would be the one to push him over the edge to strangulation. He watched him toss back someone else's half-full drink, throw an arm around a pretty girl that looked hardly seventeen, and stop to slap one of his own British men on the back—

Alfred's eyes suddenly began roving the bar, and Arthur cursed, ducking his head behind an empty chair at his table. No doubt it had finally dawned on America that it wasn't just his own people here, and he was eagerly searching for England himself. Arthur tried to keep himself hidden as he peered through the slatted back of the chair, waiting… and finally, Alfred frowned for a moment, then plastered that stupid grin back on his face before letting the girl drag him out to the dance floor.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur sat back up in his seat. There was hardly a chance that he'd be spotted with Alfred teaching his partner the Lindy Hop, so he leaned his head back against the wall and tried to tune out the noise. The next song was a slow one, and he let his eyes slide shut for a moment… only for a sudden blare of the brass to jerk him awake. He must've dozed off momentarily. For how long, he wasn't sure, but the band was playing an entirely different song now, upbeat and familiar-sounding. He suddenly remembered who he was avoiding though, and gave the room a quick panicked sweep. His target was still blissfully unaware of his presence, still dancing with the same girl. He snorted to himself when he saw Alfred grab her around the waist and flip her around himself horizontally before standing her up straight again. Bloody show-off. She let out a high-pitched giggle that Arthur could hear all the way back in his corner, followed by—

"HAHAHAHAHAHA! I KNOW! I'M AWESOME, RIGHT?"

The pop of his jaw was audible as he gritted his teeth together again. He was going to break some molars if he had to deal with much more of this… He'd had his fill the moment he noticed Alfred in the building, and it was high time he left.

Arthur stood a little too quickly, knocking his injured arm against the table and letting out an oath. It took nearly five minutes to squeeze through the piled tables, chairs, and people, but finally, he managed it. He marched up to the barkeep, fumbled in his pocket with his good hand and banged his spare change for the pint on the counter, grunting in response to the "Leaving so soon, Kirkland?" from one of his men sitting at the bar. Tab paid, he turned around sharply, picked his chin up with an air of disdain, and walked squarely into a mass of khaki uniform.

"Arthur!"

Forgetting the pain in his arm from the sudden collision, it was all he could do to keep his hands from wrapping themselves around Alfred's neck… not that it would do much good. It took more to kill off a nation than a little asphyxiation, though it would probably have made him feel a bit better.

Alfred was staring down at him, smile broad and bomber jacket tossed carelessly over his shoulder. His cheeks were flushed from dancing, sweat glistening in the low light… Arthur spared a wistful thought for how utterly slap-able his face looked, and what a shame it was to leave it unharmed.

"Alfred, I really haven't the time. Excuse me," he said much more politely than he thought was possible at the moment. He made to push past him and head for the door, but Alfred dropped an arm over his shoulders and turned him back towards the bar with a booming laugh that made him see red.

"What's the hurry? Come on, Arthur! I'll buy you a drink!" Alfred practically shouted.

"No thank you. I'd like to leave."

Alfred widened his grin. "No! I insist!" he said sweetly.

"Sod off."

"Don't be rude. Wait, was that rude? I only speak American."

"_Don't be such an insufferable twat!"_ Arthur hissed.

"I'm going to assume that was rude too."

There was a jerk on his uniform as Alfred pulled him in close, breath tickling his ear. "If you don't stay," he nearly purred, Arthur's patience ready to snap, "I might have to entertain your boys while you're gone. Maybe a history lesson or two…"

If it was supposed to be a threat, it wasn't a very good one. "And why on Earth should that persuade me to stay?" he scoffed.

Alfred's blue eyes glinted behind his glasses, far too close to Arthur's face for comfort. "Because I happen to know that their mate Arthur Kirkland used to make his money by dressing in lace and thigh-high boots, lookin' to score some booty."

The crowd paid no mind to the furious fight that had broken out at the bar, though more than a few people turned their heads at such screeches as, "I WAS A BLOODY PIRATE, YOU IMBECILE!" and "YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN THE WAY FRANCE USED TO DRESS!" Within moments, though, Arthur had managed to catch his sling on a barstool and nearly wrench his injured left arm out of socket in a mad attempt to stuff the closest ashtray down Alfred's throat. The American (of course) found this entirely too funny, and didn't bother to contain his laughter as he helped untie the fabric from around Arthur's neck to set him free.

Afterwards, Alfred insisted again that he buy the man a drink, if only to try and make up for causing him to further maim himself after all the injuries he'd sustained during the Blitz. Arthur finally consented, and the two of them sat back at the corner table where he'd been hiding earlier.

A few moments passed, neither of them speaking, as Arthur let his eyes wander over the room. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Alfred was looking around, too, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He felt the urge to say something and break the uncomfortable pause in conversation, but Alfred beat him to it.

"'s nice, huh?" he said so quietly that Arthur could hardly hear him over the noise of the band and the bar.

Nice?

"What's nice?"

Alfred's smile grew a bit as he looked over at him. His face had lost the obnoxious optimism that was usually present, his eyes looking older and more tired than Arthur had ever seen them. It reminded him with an uncomfortable jolt in his stomach of how long it had been since he bothered to look Alfred in the eye…

"This," Alfred said, with a vague wave of his hand. "It's nice. Our guys have been fighting hard—hell, we have, too—and here we all are getting a little break… Enjoying ourselves."

Arthur snorted. "Are we? I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly having the time of my life here."

"You can't blame it on your date. I, good sir, am awesome company."

He shuddered at the thought of Alfred as his 'date', and gave him a scathing look. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said. "What happened to your actual date? Ran off on her then? That doesn't make for very good company. Not very _heroic_ of you."

Confused, Alfred took a look around the bar, saying, "Who…?"

"The girl you were trying to fling halfway across the room earlier. You call that dancing, by the way?"

"Oh! Her!" Alfred smiled. "Well, she was actually like, 16 or something. She must've snuck in somehow. I told her I'd dance with her for a while, then she had to go straight back home and go to bed before people started getting drunk and acting weird."

How… chivalrous of him. Arthur was genuinely surprised—not impressed, he told himself. He had no sarcastic quip to follow this, so he took a long drink and looked back out at the dancers.

Another, slightly less uncomfortable silence followed. Arthur slowly became aware of Alfred's eyes on him, but refused to meet them. Instead, he watched carefully as an American soldier swung his partner completely over his shoulder from behind, her hand catching the ground upside-down before her legs followed her over. They didn't miss a beat before she was spun to the side, obscured from view by another couple twirling past.

"You're really eating this up, you know?"

Arthur turned to glare at him. "What do you mean?"

With a chuckle, Alfred continued, "You've been staring at the dance floor since we sat down over here…" Suddenly the manic gleam returned to his eyes. "Oh ho! You wanna get out there, too, don't you?"

As a matter of fact, Arthur did find the idea of dancing agreeable now that he thought about it… It'd been forever since he'd had a chance to, and he used to enjoy it quite a bit—and before he could think anything else on the subject, Alfred jerked him out of his seat and through the tangled mess of people to the very middle of the dance floor.

"Alfred!" he shouted over the music once they'd stopped. "Usually dancing requires one to find a partner before attempting it, you know!" He gestured towards a small group of unoccupied ladies across the room. Surely one of them would accept an offer, provided he could make it over there without being kicked in the head on the way.

It was then that a curious thing happened. Arthur's right hand was still raised from pointing when a large hand slipped into it, followed by the other snaking around his waist and pulling him close—to Alfred.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spat, trying to worm his way out of Alfred's grip, but he was only held tighter. The song that had been playing drew to an end, replaced by a slow, sweet tune—oh for the love of—was that _Moonlight Serenade_?

Smiling a bit more mischievously than usual, the American replied, "I'm being a good date." His statement was accompanied by a sudden movement, and they were off, Alfred's practiced feet leading them through the motions of a slow foxtrot while Arthur fought to get away.

"How do you reckon?" He struggled a bit more, to no avail.

"You can't exactly lead with your left arm slung up like that. Imagine how embarrassing it'd be for you to work up the courage to ask some pretty thing to dance, only to have her laugh and ask how."

And this wasn't a million times _more_ embarrassing? He actually hadn't thought of his temporary handicap until now, but he'd have much preferred the imagined scenario to what was actually playing out.

"If you're so interested in being such a good _date_," Arthur seethed, attempting to follow just to keep from tripping, "then perhaps you shouldn't manhandle your partner into dancing when he doesn't want to!"

"Ah," Alfred said knowingly. "But see, my partner really _does_ want to dance, but he can't because he got himself hurt fighting for his people and being tough as shit and pretty damn epic about it. I'm just allowing him to enjoy himself, because he deserves it but won't do it without someone forcing him into it first, and that's what any hero would do." He pushed a stunned Arthur away before twirling him around with a firm but gentle hand and pulling him back into an even closer hold.

"Oh."

Alfred nodded. "Yup. Hero, remember?" he said, then dipped him halfway to the floor and back up.

It was bit difficult, trying to reverse his steps to adjust to following instead of leading, but his partner was a good dancer and kept him from stumbling. Arthur was incredibly self-conscious dancing with another man in the middle of a crowd of American and British soldiers… His cheeks and ears felt like they could combust at any moment, but it didn't seem that anyone was sparing him or Alfred as much as a passing glance.

He managed to bring his eyes up to meet Alfred's, receiving a curious smile in return. Clearly the man wasn't experiencing the same level of embarrassment as he was (either that, or he was hiding it extremely well). He wasn't sure how he felt about that, so he looked away and let Alfred turn him out again. When they came back together, he could hear his dance partner humming along with the music.

Alfred had said he deserved to enjoy himself. Earlier that evening, before the Americans had arrived, hadn't he resolved to do just that? It wasn't quite the evening he'd had in mind, and frankly, he wished he were still alone at his table with his thoughts. But could he say he was enjoying this? The hand resting at the small of his back wasn't so uncomfortable anymore, guiding him gently, and the humming probably would have annoyed him to no end under normal circumstances (he thought of the last meeting they'd had when the other nation had hummed _Battle Hymn of the Republic_ loudly throughout the entire thing), but Arthur found he didn't mind it so much now.

He was still wondering when Alfred released him, so lost in his thoughts that he hardly noticed the song had ended. With a start, he quickly dropped his hand and cleared his throat. Alfred watched him expectantly.

"Well… I-I just…" Arthur struggled for something to say. "You…"

Alfred didn't say anything, but his smile was nearly a smirk… Arthur felt all his earlier annoyance come rushing back, and suddenly felt as though he was being made fun of.

"I'll be leaving now," he huffed, not waiting for a reply before turning and pressing through the crowd towards the door. He'd let Alfred make a damn fool of him, and he wasn't about to let him continue—

"Arthur, hold up!"

"No thank you!" He slammed the door right on Alfred's foot, taking a little pleasure in the howl of pain that followed. But before he could make it any further, though, he felt a tug on his sling.

"Damnit, Alfred! Leave me be!" he shouted, attempting to spin around, but Alfred still had ahold of his sling, keeping him there.

"Just listen to me for a minute."

"I refuse! Now unhand me this instant!"

With a sigh, Alfred grabbed his shoulders and turned him around so that they were eye-to-eye. "Look," he said, ignoring the scowl Arthur was giving him. "I mean it, okay? I was serious. I know it doesn't happen that often, I'm an idiot, blah blah blah whatever. But I meant that about you deserving it."

Arthur could think of no reply, his thoughts as confused as they'd been before he'd tried to leave the bar.

"I know we haven't gotten along that well for a while now… But I do kinda care about you, Arthur."

He felt his face flush, and refused to meet Alfred's eyes. Of course he'd always cared about him, too… Not that he'd ever say it. And it certainly wouldn't keep him from hating his guts from time to time, but after all they'd been through over the centuries, naturally there would have to be some sort of bond there, however strained and distant it may be.

"Thanks," he muttered, not wanting to say any more for risk of Alfred reading too much into it.

"No prob." Alfred smacked him on the shoulder, smile spreading across his face again. "Now," he said, bending close and lifting Arthur's chin gently. "Since you've acknowledged what an awesome date I am, hows about your goodnight kiss?"

It was unfortunate, really, Arthur thought as he straightened his jacket. Here he was with one useless arm already, and now it felt as though a couple knuckles on his right hand were broken. But it had definitely been worth the temporary pain watching his fist connect with Alfred's jaw, sending his glasses and possibly a tooth or two flying.

He let out a quiet chuckle, thinking of how much he'd enjoyed himself that evening.

END


End file.
